


Love Scenario

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Feelings Realization, M/M, Minho was in denial, drunk Minho is dumb, lame pick up lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: Minho tries to flirt with someone who is pretty familiar to him.Jinwoo doesn't mind all the lame pick up lines and the weird things Minho says to him because, in the end, he is Minho and he has fancied him since the beginning.





	Love Scenario

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!
> 
> As usual, all my stories are already posted somewhere else.
> 
> I had a good time writing it and, even though there was a better version of it (with a clean and cuter end) my laptop didn't save it, so I had to rewrite it all over again. So, if it's a little messy or confusing, that's the reason. 
> 
> Thanks for your time! 
> 
> As you might know, English is not my native tongue, so sorry for all the mistakes you might find there while reading. 
> 
> Feel free to leave any comment or to throw rotten tomatoes - I would if I could, my stories make me cringe most of the time, so I will understand. Also, leave kuddos if you want too!
> 
> Thanks for reading it and I hope you are having a great day!

He isn’t thinking much today. He isn’t thinking at all, he mumbles, spinning his empty glass, the remaining bits of ice clattering, glass against glass, cold under his hand. It’s rhythmically and sedating, like a lullaby – he wants to sleep; his head thumbs constantly, reminding him of the name that is still on the tip of his tongue bathed in soju, a name he wants to forget; the reason after his last shoot – a name he has never loved but was his nevertheless.

  
He doesn’t fall asleep, though, not when, with half-closed eyes, he sees him. He blinks, allured, but the creature at the far end of the room is still there, as lovely as before – he tries to see him clearly, he focuses his gaze on him until the edges stop moving, becoming more defines; he hasn’t drunk that much after all – lying to himself is his second nature, he has drowned in alcohol all night long - the dim light falls over him and he is painted in golden hues that feel like slumber - Minho bates his eyes but he is not dreaming (his heart stutters and it's itching, beating fast against his ribs).

  
He stands up and stumbles, the stools on his way are annoying and so he pushes them aside vehemently – he only trips over twice and it isn’t that embarrassing and the person he is interested in isn’t watching - he has his gaze fixed on his phone and Minho wishes that he could become one - so he is alright. He hasn’t fallen face down to the ground (he has fallen down for an angel, though, just one glance and he was kneeling in front of him, admitting all he has kept it secret to the world).

He shouldn’t be doing this but, in this place – dark and somber, with a title he can’t spell –, nobody knows him; he is just a boy in love carrying  his heart on his sleeve, beating at the same pace as this other boy does – murmuring his unknown name, colouring his skin. – In this bar, wooden floor and expensive liquor, the smell of leather from the couch blended with the perfume of the dusky chandeliers that comes from above; it’s all unreal, as if in a movie – he turns into the main character of this night and so he will get that boy; he is the star – even if he is rejected, he will try until the end - there is nothing to lose and, fair enough,  he won't remember. 

He is celebrating – he is celebrating that he is single and, therefore, he can bring this man home. He can try. He can fail miserably; it doesn’t matter because now he can and he will – to fall flat epically, that’s it. He should be crying but, rather, he laughs loud and obnoxious; he doesn’t care, he shallow another glass of burning soju and lets it taste sinks into his soul, erasing the bits that are left of her – her pretty face is blurry, where her eyes blue? Did her perfume smell like flowers? Was she pretty? He can’t remember - he doesn't want to reminisce her, that girl he has pushed and pull into his existence only for his own sake, he wants to focus only in this boy who is more beautiful than any women, far more graceful than she ever was, for sure -, for now she is a dot in his life, a stain at most, annoying and bothersome, someone he can't delete totally, someone for whom he doesn’t cry because she never meant more than nothing to him (he knows it’s cruel but, in the end, she was only a friend playing pretence, a façade she didn’t know she was keeping in place until she did; he should feel sorry, he should be worried, but he can't, his only preoccupation now is to get to know this person who shines in a corner, oblivious at his failing attempts to catch his attention, she is left totally forgotten).

  
Minho stares at the angel in front of him; he soused but he is still gorgeous – the room spins but he is the axis, the constant that balances him; he is alluring, Minho wants to sing to him all the love songs in the world. – He sits next to him and watches him intently – doe-like eyes painted with the colours of the universe, lips like strawberries, juicy, glossy, ready to kiss, a nose that is just perfect, crafted by the hands of a God and he has been blessed to be allowed to contemplate such a masterpiece, to breathe the same air, to loop around him like a earth to the sun that he is, so shiny, so gleaming, so beautiful, blinding; he feels like dancing under the moon, the rain washing away all the sins he wants to committee tonight with him in his arms.

He looks at him and waits until he notices – it takes him five seconds that have paused Minho’s heart; he snickers at him, all his features, comb-over, are even more captivating than a dream and, has he ever dreamt about him before? He looks familiar, like someone he used to know - the lyrics of an old song, the face of a wasted photography, a beaming face he can't recognize but that brings something to his empty mind filled with alcohol and all the stars that hang inside his orbs (he wants to get drunk of him, to kiss his lips until becoming numb and freeze).

Minho thinks about all these pickup lines that he has heard - from Seungyoon - and that is embarrassing - girls use to snort at them and leaving his friend broken and humiliated -but, right now, with this angel standing in front of him, smiling nebulously familiar, like smoke clouding his eyes, he thinks they are alright – in the end, he needs to say something.

  
“My name is Minho but you can call me the love of your life,” he says, introducing himself. He laughs, his eyes crackling lovely, creating wrinkles he wants to smooth with his fingers; the sound reverberates like bells and he is in love, again.

  
“I’m Jinwoo” he replies and even his name is graceful; every crumb of him is heavenly. He must be really an angel – a red-haired one with gleaming eyes and pale skin the same tone as a milkshake (Minho wonders how sweet it will taste under his touch) –. Jinwoo smiles at him and there is a hint of something known and his name reminds him of someone else, someone who was his flashpoint – the one who helped him realize, for sure, that he was into boys after dreaming about him for months. His name is Jinwoo, too, and Minho finds it amusing. He laughs, cracking up, his hands hitting the table and his companion stares at him, curiosity sparkling his already starry orbs. He finds it adorable, nearly as much as the other one is - the one he loves -.

  
“You even look like him!” he starts, looking back at him absorbedly as if studying all of his features, as if trying to memorize them - he does, he scribbles them inside his head until he knows them by heart, and even then it wouldn't be enough -, “But he is more beautiful” he then confesses, after scrutinizing him up to every single detail – there is a lovely mole in his eyelid and another one that begs to be kissed right under his rose lips (Minho bites his own, showing up his teeth).

  
“Who are you comparing me with?” he asks, already interested – Minho finds it cute that he isn’t mad at it, to be related with a stranger by a stranger.

  
“Kim Jinwoo” is his only answer – as if it answered anything at all, but this Jinwoo in front of him smiles the biggest and Minho’s heart beats painfully. Kim Jinwoo, his classmate, innocent and lonely, with a charm that can't be compared.

  
“Oh, he must be very pretty then,” he comments, giddying with surprise. Minho nods, remembering all that is beautiful in the world and that is owned by him alone. Kim Jinwoo is the embodiment of grace, he is made by stars and Gods have crafted him at their likeness; he is so perfect that words can describe or express it and he has his chest and mind – but Minho has never told it to anyone; that he is in love (irremediable, irrevocably, secretly).

  
“He is. But you look alike him” he says, dazed, his head resting in his hands, contemplating him entirely, solely – and his cheeks are blushed in soft red.

  
“Are you calling me pretty?” the man teases him, jokingly. Minho knows he is not serious, but he is – how can he not when this person looks exactly like the one he truly adores?

  
“Absolutely. Even if he is slightly prettier than you are, this is the highest compliment you could ever get, I swear” and his promise only makes him smile again – and it is as if heaven itself was unfolding in front of his eyes.

  
“I’ll take it, then” he accepts it gratefully, his sight still fixed on him, amazed, entertained – as if Minho were not a bother at all, as if he found him amusing, and thinking about it makes Minho proud of his own achievement (he can say he has been with him for more than five minutes and this is more than he was hoping for. Maybe, in the end, he does have chances to bring him home and do all the things that are lingering in his mind right now).

  
“I take you, then” he smirks, totally sold to Jinwoo – he can’t help it to be absolutely smitten, under a spell, he doesn’t care, he only wants this person to spend the rest of his life with him.

  
“I thought you had a girlfriend?” is what he replies and Minho is, for a moment, taken aback. But he lifts his head from between his crossed arms, where it was resting to better contemplate him without the world spinning around and stares into his eyes.

  
“I did, but not anymore. So I’m free to fall in love with you” he singsongs, embarrassingly – it’s a miracle that Jinwoo happens to find it cute when Minho falls, literally, in front of him this time around, his knees hit the floor and Jinwoo laughs lovely (the pain that is spreading through his bones worth it). He helps him up and smiles.

  
“You didn’t need to do it to that extreme” he giggles, once he is sitting next to him again.

  
“It’s nothing. I would do anything to have you. I have to prove my wealth” he says in response and, even while rolling his eyes at his words, he is still the most adorable thing he has ever laid his eyes upon.  
“Well, don’t hurt yourself again, please” he pleads and Minho is in a hurry to comply – even if it’s difficult because the room spins around and he has no sense of equilibrium and walking seems so hard right now, as if standing in a boat in the middle of a storm in the ocean (he feels like doing something disconcerting again).

  
“I won’t if you promise to come home with me,” he says, confidently.

  
“I might have to, seeing how drunk you are” he admits, Minho already dancing on the ceiling after hearing it – the chance is real and he must be the luckiest person alive if Jinwoo wants to come that far with him. This means something and he grabs it tight, whatever that this is it that is revolving in Jinwoo’s voice that is soft and caring and grounding him to the sore.

  
He is heavy, relying on his shoulders, dig in his heels on the pavement; the moon in the sky is laughing at his efforts and Jinwoo sighs, defeated. Why did he accept to take care of a drunkard Song Minho? He should have left the man in the bar, alone, or call one of his friends to collect him; instead, out of pity and sorrow, he is dragging him across Hongdae in order to carry him home, safe and sound. Just to make thing even worse, Minho keeps on yelling his love for him – “Kim Jinwoo, I love you since the first time I saw you in class”, “I never grow the courage to tell him, but you look so alike that maybe you can replace him in my heart”, professing his affection while trying to kiss him and, as much as he likes him (he does, he has liked him since the start) he is not going to take advantage of his state of mind, not when he is taking him for a strange up to become his one night stand. It’s ridiculous and he feels mortified, but he carries on and thanks God for Minho to live so close to the pub.

  
It was cute at the beginning; sure it was; to find the handsome classmate he was in love with trying to flirt so badly and finding out that he was single and openly interested in him was something good to take in account, too. Seeing him stumbling and blundering with his words and thought – he was thinking out loud most of the time and it wasn’t pleasant to heard half of the things he wanted to do to him, at least not in that way, when he was totally out of his mind - was not. He didn't want to listen to a gradation of lecherous insinuations or a confession that was meant to be to him directed to someone who he thought was an outsider - it hurt his pride to think that, in the end, none of these was real.

Jinwoo might or might not be interested in Minho – he is, very much and very subtle too, never speaking up his feelings, keeping them inside his chest – but that doesn’t worth the pain that is this Song Minho that is blunt and direct and not ashamed of loving a man as he was all this time – having a girlfriend only as a cover, to protect his life from turning into the torment that was Jinwoo’s own before moving to college. He has never thought, not even for a second, that Minho, the popular, outgoing, friendly and utterly handsome, Song Minho would be so much in love with someone shy and quiet like him, someone who never caught his attention before, someone whom he has never spoken and that was a complete stranger to him– not more than a few greetings, after all, there is no link between them. – It might be the alcohol affecting him instead of his real feelings, Jinwoo thinks, believing it, trusting it to be the explanation after his strange behavior – he is only infatuated due to the incredible amount of drinks he had to have earlier, nothing else.

  
Putting Minho to sleep is way easier; he sinks into the mattress heavily and stays there, completely still. It’s nice how relaxed he looks now; it’s not the Minho he knows, who is loud and cheerful, but he likes it nevertheless – he likes him a lot. He sighs and tugs the blanket around him, ensuring that he will be warm and cozy, that the night will bring him comfort and the rest that he needs after a painful experience and too much alcohol in him.

  
“Hey, angel, don’t go” he says, breaking the stillness and Jinwoo sits on the bed, never made, and waits for him to fall asleep again – he does it too, too tired, the warmth so inviting, Minho’s breath calming, as if counting stars, he slips against his body, leaning on him and lets Minho to curl around, legs sneaking, feet rubbing his calves, cold skin rubbing him, stealing the warmth of his - he doesn't mind because this is the closest he will ever be to him and, when tomorrow will come, this will only be a memory.

It’s so hot. His bed has never been this warm before, though. And his room doesn’t dance and his brain clearly isn’t starting to do tumbles; there is something wrong – something that is pressed against his chest by his hands and that smells like clovers and summer and all that is good in this world and it doesn't feel wrong at all, oddly reassuring, tranquil.  
“Jinwoo?” his eyes open fully and he stares at the figure he is holding in his embrace. He blinks, aware, and sighs, easing, after discovering that both are perfectly dressed – it’s a relief to know that nothing happened, nothing that he would have to regret.

  
He has regrets, though. But first, he kisses the top of Jinwoo’s head because a chance like this is not going to happen again. After it he lets go, putting him back to the pillow where his face sinks sweetly, looking far more fairy than he already is – his hair is pinkish and lovely, brushing his cover and his fingers itch to get entangled in it.

  
It’s confusing and his headaches – he is slightly sure that he is nourishing a pretty bad hangover, the reminiscence of his finished relationship with her as the reason after him throwing up a party and all the content in his stomach (he hurries up to the bathroom and stays there to moulder; there is no way he is going to face him after forgetting what he has done (if he has done anything, if he has confessed his denied love to him).

  
Jinwoo purring and stirring is way too appealing to miss – the sounds he makes are the kind of noises Minho wants to wake up with. – Jinwoo opens his eyes and smiles beatifically at him – the headache dissipates in the air.

  
“How are you feeling, Minho-ya?” it’s the first thing he says and Minho is touched by how thoughtful he is – and he has been blessed that a part of his thoughtfulness pours into him; he feels undeserved.

  
“What happened?” he wonders, confused, preoccupied. His worries must be transferred to his face because Jinwoo answers in a heartbeat, trying to delete any of his sorrows.

  
“Nothing! I just carried you home” he says so hastily that it even sounds more suspecting – but Minho finds that he doesn’t care; Jinwoo can take advantage of him anytime from now on. But he believes him anyway.

  
“Did I – say or do something problematic?” he asks next; he has to, he knows that there is a huge probability that he has screw up big and embarrassingly, it’s not only a probability, though, he is sure he did (and, somehow, he has ended in the same bed as Jinwoo in the process and he needs to know how just in case he needs to repeat this later in a more sober state).

  
“Oh, you don’t want me to tell you” he teases. He has to be teasing him; he couldn’t be that terrific, couldn’t he? Of course, there are some precedents of him being drunk and awkward, of him being drunk and a jerk, of him being drunk and a problem –  he can’t recall all the times Seungyoon has told him all the awful stuff he has performed the previous night after sinking himself in cheap alcohol. “You didn’t break anything or borrowed money” he reassures him, voice sweet and calm and Minho feels better already – the clench in his chest releasing; this is the longest he has heard him speak. “You were very lovely and clingy to me, though. But I won’t take it personally” he assures, smiling – there is a pinch of sadness in the curb of his lips and Minho wants to know why, but the fact that he confessed to him, that he knows the truth, that he knows that he likes men instead of women as he has pretended… that he knows all the lies he tells, it’s painful, it’s – “It’s ok,” he cuts the curse of his thoughts “you were very intoxicated. I know you had had a girlfriend, so don’t worry.” Of course, he worries, terribly. He has spelled the truth to him – of all the people in the world – but despite that, he believes it was only the alcohol talking – which is accurate enough but not the whole truth because it's undeniable that he is in love with the man lying, still, in his bed, caressed by a lazy beans of light. "You didn't recognize me, so you tried to seduce me thinking I was someone else. It was funny" he giggles and he looks even more appealing than before - Minho wants to smash his head against something for being such an idiot.

Minho should be grateful for him to believe it was the alcohol taking control of his tongue, he should be thankful for that, for not having to tell him the truth - that he fancies him a lot. - He should be happy about it; he isn't, though; he wants him to know. He deserves it, after looking after him - after bearing with him all night long.

  
"Jinwoo, I don't know what I told you, but I'm partially sure that they were true." It's a start, slowly but certainly, he will unfold his real self to him, he will tell him everything.

  
"You told me I was prettier than myself. Was it true?" he wonders, smirking. Minho chokes on his own spite - it's so stupid that it has to be his doing.

  
"You are the most gorgeous person I ever knew, hyung" he assures him, cheeks painted in red and words escaping his lips. Jinwoo's face lits up, blushing hard and lovingly - Minho glances at him intently. "And, for the record, I like you. My girlfriend was fake. Well, she didn't know it back then, but she discovered it in the end and break up with me, which is comprehensible" he continues with his explanation, his hearts pounding hard against his ribs at the same pace as his mind screams his name. It feels nice, to tell the truth finally, it's nice and the weight on his shoulders is lifting up. It's nice how Jinwoo interlaces his fingers around him, smiling at him lovingly. "But I'm afraid...And I'm sorry, too. For lying to you and pretending to be someone else" he finishes in a rush.

  
"There is nothing to be afraid of" he reassures him and it feels beautiful to be assured by him, to feel his hands trapped against his, soft and warm; he feels content for the first time in ages. "You love who you love".  
He wants to believe it, he wants to trust in his words, he wants to be batted in his trust - Jinwoo has said it softly but honestly and he would like to live in a world where his statement could be true; he doesn't: people hates all who are different and Minho as ever been frighten of being left behind, of being alone.

  
"I'm scared of letting my parents down" Minho confesses. For a moment there are sparkles liting Jinwoo's eyes and he is left in awe - there is a note of sadness there, too, and Minho wants to pry into it, to know the answer to his grief.

  
"Your parents will love you regardless of who you like. Mine wasn't pleased when I told them but he came to terms with it after seeing me happy being true to myself. They have been very encouraging, they were the reason why I never gave up, not even when I wanted to die because kids at school bullied me. My mother told me then that, rather than to let it affect me, to think about how much they were missing out; they would never get to know me and that would be their loss. She loved me despite everything, she endured even more than I did. Your family will accept you once you tell them, I'm sure they will. And, if they don't, you have me" and there is so much assurance in his speech and so many truths - and the fact that he has faced so much hate hurts him more than to think about how much his father will loathe him. Jinwoo is so brave, so sincere, he wishes he could be half as honest as he is, to be able to be free.

  
"I'm sorry that you had to suffer this much," he says slowly, his chest expanding with all that he wants to transmit to him, all the feelings that have been nestling inside and that now wants to be liberated. "Jinwoo, thanks to you is how I discovered who I was. Falling with you was how I opened my eyes. And I don't want to lie, not to you, anymore. I'm in love with you and I'm afraid of what people will think and say. I don't know how do you feel about me, of course, but if you do feel the same then I'll give you my all and my everything and I'll endure whatever that will come." Jinwoo smiles at him, his face so pretty, his eyes staring at him sorely, capturing his breath and his heart once again - his hands are still pressed together and he holds it tightly, calmly; it's warm, it's sweet, like holding his fate in his sleeves.

  
"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" he wonders, breaking the stillness and Minho queries why is he asking this.  
"To be honest I have never kissed before at all. The girl I was dating tried so many times but I kept on refusing. I suppose that was the hint she needed to put all the facts together and discover it" he says, embarrassed - his chest contracts and it is strange how it beats achingly as if clenched.

  
"Then we should change it"

His lips taste like strawberries - and Minho is not scared anymore because he has someone as brave and incredible holding his hands in the middle of the streets, kissing him gently under the sunlight.


End file.
